


Avoidance

by SomeRainMustFall



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, Kind of? Same that's implied on the show, Malcolm Bright Whump, Whump, just be aware that's kind of the theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21596521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall
Summary: "I'd like to eat," Malcolm says, wringing his hands. "I think. I'm hungry...maybe. I'm not sure.""You're not sure?" Dani asks. "How are you not sure?"He smiles weakly at her. "Another mystery.""You're mysterious enough, Bright.""That's what you like about me."
Comments: 46
Kudos: 470





	Avoidance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a mess. Then sometimes I write something about my mess, and I'm a little bit less of a mess than I was before.

Gil notices the glazed over look in Malcolm's eyes the second he walks into the precinct, though he acts as bright as ever. 

"Morning," he says, handing Gil a lollipop, something Gil smiles at, just as he does every time. It's cute; for all the maturity he's shown growing up, there's so many ways Malcolm is still that same ten-year-old Gil befriended. Maybe with an even bigger sweet tooth now.

"Do you just have an endless supply of these somewhere?" Dani asks as Malcolm holds out the other three in his hand, picking a blue raspberry, and Malcolm slides it over to JT. 

"Actually, they're from my therapist. Would you believe that's the only reason I still go?"

"No," JT says, matter-of-factly, slowly looking him over, and Malcolm folds one into his palm with two fingers, leaves only the sour apple for JT to take. 

"Jokes on you. That's my favorite."

"Oh, I had a feeling," Malcolm says, and sits down, pats his pocket where he still has a cherry one safe in his pocket for Edrisa—her favorite, he remembers.

"_Hmm_," JT replies, sticking the candy in his mouth and making a face like it's definitely _ not _his favorite, and Malcolm smiles innocently up at Gil, popping a strawberry between his lips.

"So. What have we got?"

His hands are trembling, right there on the table, but it doesn't seem to be the same type of tremor he gets when he's having memories. It's just a bit, but noticeable enough, and Gil glances him over before pointing to the board to go over the new details on their current case.

**x**

Led into an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night, Malcolm trips over his own feet, has to put a hand out to the wall to steady himself.

"Bright," Dani hisses, coming over to nudge him with a shoulder, otherwise preoccupied with keeping her gun out and ready. "You okay?"

"Just misplaced my feet," he says, grinning. "Ah—my steps. My feet are...firmly attached. I'm fine." 

Dani doesn't believe him, but their attention is to the left as there's a crash, and a tower of dusty boxes fall.

"Gil, I got him," Dani says into her radio. "Going for the east exit!"

She takes off after him. Malcolm is on her heels, and then he's not. She doesn't notice until she's outside, alone, spinning around in search of the criminal and finding neither him nor Bright. 

"Fuck," she mutters, and then, into the radio: "I lost him."

"You didn't."

She whirls around, back to face the entrance of the warehouse, and finds the man they came here to find with a gun to Malcolm's head, hiding behind him as he stands with his arms raised in surrender. 

"I don't wanna kill him," the man says. "You get the hell outta here, and—and I won't! I just—all I want is—"

"To go home, right?" Malcolm interrupts carefully. A thin line of blood steadily trickles down from a gash on his hairline, and he blinks hard as it trails into his eye. "Right, Wyss? Back to your daughter, your wife." 

Wyss nods. He _ whimpers. _He's not the kind of murderer they usually deal with. He's the kind that called into the police himself, begged them to stop him from hurting anyone again, the kind in an unpredictable psychotic break. 

"Put the gun down," Dani says, catching onto Malcolm's thought process. "We'll take you to them."

"No, no, _ no," _ Wyss mumbles, pressing the barrel harder against Malcolm's temple. "No. You're _ lying. _I don't wanna go to jail. J-just wanna go home. Please."

"You don't want to kill me," Malcolm says. His arms are shaking, like he's having trouble holding them up. "You won't...be able to go home if you do. Put down the gun and we'll talk."

"No. No...I just want…"

Malcolm staggers, just slightly, and lets out a harsh exhale. "You'm can...you'n—" 

The weak hold on the back of his suit isn't enough to keep him up as his knees give out, and he drops. Dani fires while she has a clear shot, hitting Wyss by his collar bone. He crumples too, and she darts over to them, kicks the gun away and handcuffs him on his stomach as Gil and JT finally rejoin them.

"Bright!" she hisses, nudging him with her foot. "What was that? Are you okay?" 

Malcolm sits up, wiping blood from his lip. "What?" he asks, sounding awfully hoarse.

Gil reaches down to touch his shoulder, breathing hard from the run, and Wyss moans pitifully under JT's knee. 

"Can I see them now? Please! Let me see them…"

"Who?"

"His family," Malcolm says, and finally gets back to his feet. He staggers again, but waves Gil off when he tries to help. 

"I don't think he remembers he killed them."

**x**

Dani drives Malcolm home, reaching over to gently smack his hand when he touches the sutures on his head.

"Let it _ heal,_" she says, and then presses two fingers against his cheek. 

Malcolm flinches and chokes out a gasp, turning to look at her. "Why are your hands always so _ cold?_" 

"Me? Your skin feels like ice. Literally. _ Ice_. All the time. Thought you might have a fever, but you sure as hell don't. So what's up with you, huh?" 

"I'm not sick," Malcolm murmurs, rubbing where Dani had touched. 

"You fainted."

Malcolm purses his lips.

"Do I need to take you to the hospital?" 

"No." The change in Malcolm's voice is a subtle one, but Dani can tell. Something's different..._wrong_. He seems uncomfortable. 

"Then tell me why."

"Low blood pressure, likely," Malcolm says, raising his hand, but it's to gnaw anxiously on one of his knuckles instead of bother the wound. 

"When's the last time you ate something?" 

"Could be my blood sugar. Really, either. Did you know—"

"You're avoiding the question." 

"I avoid most everything," he says. "Happens to be a real forte of mine."

Dani scoffs, crossing her arms as she breaks at a red-light and glancing over at him. "I've noticed." 

"Most food makes me sick," Malcolm finally says after some silence. "Occasionally it all does." 

"How long?" 

"Counting today?" He shrugs a shoulder, clears his throat, does some mental math for show when he knows exactly how long. "Eh...a week?"

The car jerks into motion. "A _ week? _ Are you serious?" 

"Give or take," he says, a little absentmindedly, and then bites on his finger again and looks down when she glares at him. "Really, it's nothing to worry about! It happens. I take vitamins."

"Vitamins aren't _ food. _You barely had the strength to walk tonight, and it almost got you killed!

"Technically it saved my life," he says, and then once again averts his eyes from hers. "After it almost got me killed, yes. But who's really keeping score?"

She shakes her head, pulls over onto the grass and rubs at her face before turning to get a better angle to glare at him. "God, Bright. You can't be doing this to yourself!"

"I'd _ like _to eat," Malcolm says, wringing his hands. "I think. I'm hungry...maybe. I'm not sure." 

"You're not _ sure?" _Dani asks. "How are you not sure?"

He smiles weakly at her. "Another mystery."

"You're mysterious enough, Bright."

"That's what you like about me." 

He looks startled for half a second, like maybe it had just slipped out. She snorts, scrunches her curls with a hand, and sighs. 

"Look," she finally says. "Maybe you're just not trying the right things. What do you like?"

"Not much."

"I can tell. You're a stick. But come on, I'll get you anything you want, okay? My treat."

Malcolm tries to think. He goes through a list of his normal foods, winces as most of them bring nothing but nausea. It's never gone on this long before, and he knows he needs to eat _something_. But the closer he gets to finding answers about his past, the more his body fights against him in the present. "I don't know…"

"Anything. Just give me _ something_. Then you can go home."

He hums, chewing on his lip, and then smiles.

"We never did have grilled cheese," he says, and Dani blows out a breath.

"Jesus. I forgot about that. How do you remember?"

"I really wanted to use my Jarlsberg..."

"Well...they don't have fancy cheese, but I know a diner close to here—mmm. Good?" 

Malcolm picks his legs up onto the seat with him, holding onto his ankles, and looks like a happy little kid. "Good." 

She looks him over, feels a little tug on her heart at the sight, and pulls the car back onto the road.

"...Can we get ice cream, too?"

"Don't push it." 

Malcolm taps his fingers on the door. "So...yes?"

"_Yes," _ Dani says, because _ of course _ she says yes, because she has no idea how to say no to the little bastard, and doesn't know if she would either way.

Gil calls her a bit later to see how he's doing, and she looks over at him across the table. He'd successfully downed half a sandwich, even complimented the taste, and is now on his second ice cream sundae, going on about how the process of making a maraschino cherry is distasteful at best while forking his over onto her dish. There's a little more color to his cheeks, and a little dollop of whipped cream on his nose.

She smiles. "Yeah. He's good." 


End file.
